Hero of Olympus

by Hero of Olympus (retail) (epub)

  ‘Damn you!’ she hissed.

  But her heart was not in the curse. She wanted him too much, succumbing to him with a sigh as he subjugated her will to his.

  * * *

  When it was over, they lay on the bed together, her head on his shoulder and her leg hooked over his. She was fiddling with the hairs on his chest, winding them around her finger and unwinding them again.

  ‘It seems the belt doesn’t make one invincible in battle, after all,’ she said.

  He turned to face her. He had not expected a warrior queen to be so beautiful, but as she lay naked beside him, he knew that he could make love to her again and again and enjoy every moment of it. He placed his hand on the dip of her waist and drew it slowly upwards, over the lower ribs to the place where her right breast should have been, feeling the smooth skin before running his fingers down to the mound of her left breast. She smiled at his touch, and he saw an unfamiliar gentleness in her expression, a need that was more than sexual.

  ‘Stay, Heracles,’ she said. ‘Be my king.’

  It was a moment of terrible vulnerability. Even though she must have known such a hope was impossible, she had given voice to it anyway. Her nakedness was complete. But that was not what the gods had ordained. They had commanded him to fulfil the labour and return to Tiryns.

  ‘I did not come here for a kingdom,’ he replied.

  ‘Then I will come with you.’

  ‘I came only for the belt.’

  ‘Don’t you want me?’

  ‘You were not part of our bargain,’ he said.

  He lowered his fingers to the circular buckle and unfastened it. The belt slid down to the bed.

  ‘Did you not enjoy making love to me?’ she asked, sitting up and placing her hand on his. ‘We could make love every night, as man and wife.’

  He sat up and put his legs over the side of the bed.

  ‘I already have a wife.’

  He turned and took the belt in his fist. She seized hold of his wrist, the soft gleam in her eye hardening suddenly.

  ‘I know you do – she is a prisoner in my dungeons. But she does not love you. How can she, after you murdered her children? And what does she matter anyway? Do you think I won’t kill her to have you for myself?’

  ‘As what? Your slave? Shouldn’t you break my leg and my arm first?’

  He pulled his hand from her grip and stood. Crossing the room, he found his tunic and put it on.

  ‘Did you think I was ever going to let you leave Themiscyra with my father’s belt?’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘At least now I’m giving you a choice: to live with me or to die. I’ll go further: choose me, and I will let your wife return to Greece with your companion; reject me and they will die with you.’

  ‘I have what I came for,’ he said, holding up the belt. ‘I honoured my part of our agreement, and if you’re wise, you’ll honour yours. And you’ll let me leave with Megara and Iolaus, too.’

  He put on a sandal and lifted his foot onto a chair to tie the thongs. All the time, he could feel Hippolyte’s gaze on him, her nascent love hardening to hate. As he put on his other sandal and tied the thong, he saw her pick up her tunic from the floor and cover her nakedness. Then she reached beneath the bed and pulled out a sword. The bronze scraped menacingly as she drew it from its scabbard.

  ‘Will you stay?’ she asked.

  He was shocked to see tears in her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks and fell onto her tunic, darkening the blue wool. Suddenly, she was no longer a proud and fierce queen, but a young woman spurned by love. And he pitied her.

  ‘Will you stay?’ she urged.

  ‘I cannot, Hippolyte.’

  ‘Then damn you,’ she hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Althaia!’

  The door burst open and Althaia entered, followed by four Amazons. Heracles seized a leg of the chair and ripped it free, but before he could charge into them, four bows were pulled taut and four arrows were aimed at his chest. He let the makeshift club drop from his fingers.

  ‘Did he perform?’ Althaia asked.

  Her gaze lingered on her queen’s tear-streaked face. Hippolyte wiped her eyes angrily and nodded.

  ‘I have what I wanted.’

  Althaia looked at the four archers and raised her hand.

  ‘Wait!’ Hippolyte said. ‘What of his companion?’

  ‘He’d gone before we got back to the room,’ Althaia explained. ‘He forced the slave, Calus, to lead him to the dungeon, where we caught him trying to free the foreign woman. They’re still there, under guard.’

  ‘Good. Have them brought here at once.’

  One of the Amazons left the room at a signal from Althaia. Heracles was concerned to hear of Iolaus’s capture, but was relieved that he and Megara were still alive. He felt a sudden anxiety at the thought of seeing his wife for the first time since she had forgiven him for killing their children. He still loved her and longed for the happiness they had once shared. But had her forgiveness been a sign she might be able to love him back? Or was it merely out of sympathy for those too-few blissful years they had spent together? Suddenly he felt an urgent desire to see her again, to look in her eyes and understand whether any of her former feelings for him remained.

  He looked at Hippolyte. The warrior queen had returned, her sword clutched tightly in her hand and her tears gone as she stared back at him. That she had not allowed her archers to shoot him down could only mean she still wanted him, either as her king or her slave. But if he rejected her again then he knew her revenge would be fierce and swift.

  The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. The Amazon warrior appeared, followed by Iolaus and Megara – their hands bound behind their backs – and three more guards armed with shields and spears. He glanced at Iolaus, who looked apologetically back at him, then at Megara. Her face and bare limbs were smeared with dirt and dried blood, and the remnants of a dress hung in rags around her waist. Iolaus’s cloak hung from her shoulders, barely covering her breasts. His first thought was anger that her captors had treated her with such cruelty. Then his eyes met hers, expecting to find the coolness that his crimes deserved, but shocked to see that old, familiar warmth in them that he had so missed.

  ‘I would have expected more from a wife of Heracles,’ Hippolyte said, walking up to her. She plucked at her arm muscles, then pulled aside her cloak to expose her breasts. ‘What is she like to make love to, Heracles? Can she even compare to me?’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Iolaus warned.

  Hippolyte’s fist flew into his jaw, knocking him to the floor. He tried to get up, his face red with fury, but a spear pressed against his chest forced him to stay where he was. Heracles glanced at his wife, suddenly ashamed of his betrayal with Hippolyte and hoping the intimate gleam had not been driven from her eyes. But her gaze was fixed on the floor and unreadable.

  The queen turned to Megara again and seized her chin, forcing her head upwards.

  ‘Doesn’t it anger you?’ she asked. ‘That your husband prefers me to you? That I will soon be carrying his daughter in my womb? Or do you still rage against him for murdering your children, this man who can give life and take it so freely?’

  Megara spat in her face. Hippolyte recoiled briefly, then drew her fist back. Heracles ran towards her, but the archers’ bows were drawn in an instant. He stopped halfway across the room, his reckless fury sapped by the desperate look in Megara’s eyes. Hippolyte – her fist still raised – looked over her shoulder at him. He saw the pain in her expression, pain that he cared more for the wife who had rejected him than he did for her. She lowered her fist.

  ‘So, you really do care for her,’ she said.

  ‘I love her,’ Heracles said, looking at his wife.

  Hippolyte was not used to being rejected. Her lip curled back in a snarl and she grabbed Megara by the arm, holding the point of her sword beneath her chin. Megara tipped her head back to relieve the pressure of the cold bronze.

  ‘How much do you love her
, Heracles?’ the queen demanded. ‘Enough to remain here with me? Promise you’ll stay and I will let your wife and your companion go. You have my word. Refuse and all three of you will die.’

  ‘Your word?’ he scoffed, feeling the tension in his muscles as he eyed the blade pressed against his wife’s throat. ‘Didn’t you promise to let me have the belt if… if I put my seed in you?’

  ‘You have what you came for, haven’t you?’ Althaia said, pointing to the golden belt still hanging from his fist.

  ‘You have no choice, uncle,’ Iolaus said. ‘If it means Megara is allowed to go, then you must stay.’

  ‘What will it be?’ Hippolyte insisted. ‘Will you perish with your wife and friend, or will you save their lives and become king of the Amazons?’

  ‘King?’ Althaia exclaimed, lowering her sword and staring at her queen. The other Amazons looked at her in confusion. ‘King of the Amazons? You have no right to make any man king over us!’

  ‘As your queen, I have every—’

  Heracles dropped the belt and covered the space between them in a single bound. He grabbed the sword from Hippolyte’s hand, then turned and swung his fist into Althaia’s face as she launched herself at him, sending her flying across the room. A moment later, he buried the blade in the heart of the Amazon standing over Iolaus. She crumpled to the floor as he withdrew the weapon, gushing blood over the pure white fleeces. Afraid they might hit their queen, three of the archers threw down their bows and reached for their swords. The first was decapitated with a single, powerful sweep of Heracles’s sword, her severed head spraying blood as it bounced across the floor.

  Megara – her hands still tied behind her back – brought her knee up into Hippolyte’s groin. The queen cried out and stumbled back, tripping over the headless corpse of the dead archer. Calling for Megara to get behind him, Heracles threw himself at the group of female warriors.

  One lunged at him with her spear. He grabbed the shaft with his left hand, bringing his sword down with his right and severing her hand above the wrist. She fell back, clutching at the wound and screaming. Two of the archers came at him with their swords. He parried a blow from the first, driving her arm high and wide and forcing the weapon from her grip. Before he could pull back again, the second lunged at his chest. He twisted aside and the edge of her sword sliced across the back of his ribs, parting the flesh.

  He cried out as the searing pain burst through his body. With a victorious shout, the Amazon span round and swung her weapon at his stomach. Before it connected, Iolaus kicked out from where he lay on the floor, catching her in the side and sending her crashing into a table.

  Heracles reached back and pressed his hand against the stinging wound. The fresh blood was warm and sticky on his palm and fingers. But the cut had not weakened him. Rather, it had given a focus to his rage. With a howl of fury, he gripped his sword and glanced around the room. Althaia lay unconscious against the far wall, and the warrior whose hand he had severed lay curled up by the door, cradling her wounded limb and crying out with the pain. Hippolyte had taken hold of the wooden leg Heracles had torn from one of her chairs, while the Amazon Heracles had disarmed had retrieved her sword and stood protectively in front of her queen.

  Then he saw the single archer who had retained her bow. The string was drawn back to her cheek and her fingers were ready to shoot an arrow at the vast bulk of his torso. In the same instant, the remaining spearwoman gave a loud cry and ran at him, forcing the archer to shoot wide. Heracles knocked aside his attacker’s spear and swung his sword at her head. She met it with her shield, but the power in the blow cut through the oxhide and shattered the wicker frame beneath. She cried out, her arm broken, but fought back the pain to thrust her spear at Heracles’s stomach. He caught the neck of the weapon and pulled it from her hand, at the same time plunging the point of his sword through the base of her throat. Her eyes bulged and she raised her hand to her chest as he slid the blade free. Blood oozed out from the wound and from between her lips as she fell to the floor.

  Hippolyte now stood before him, with a warrior on either flank. The softness he had seen in her face as they had lain together only a short while before was now utterly gone. Instead, her dark eyes were filled with an intense hatred. Then he sensed someone beside him, and saw Iolaus – his bonds cut and hanging from his wrists – holding a spear. The Amazon whose blade had sliced open the back of Heracles’s ribcage gave a wild yell and hurled herself at him. Her sword flashed through the air, but Iolaus was quick to meet the attack, swinging the spear in front of himself and driving her weapon aside.

  The second Amazon launched herself at Heracles. He parried her first blow, then swung his sword at her head. With incredible agility, she arched backwards and let it sweep over her, before twisting herself upright and driving her own weapon at his shoulder. He turned aside, avoiding the thrust, then brought his blade down on her hip. It cut deep into the flesh and met the bone. The Amazon grunted and stared dumbly down at the wound. The next moment, Heracles had thrust his sword through her chest. She fell among the bodies of her comrades, her life’s blood darkening the pale fleeces beneath.

  A second scream warned Heracles of Hippolyte’s attack. The heavy chair leg smashed into the side of his head, crushing his ear and leaving his skull ringing with the force of the blow. He staggered sideways and she brought the club down on him a second time. His hand shot out, catching her forearm and twisting it sharply. She cried out with pain and released the chair leg. In the same moment, there was another shriek as Iolaus sank his spear into his opponent’s chest, pulling it out again as she crumpled to the floor.

  Then there was a loud twang and Heracles was thrown back by the force of the arrow, catching his heel on a dead Amazon and falling onto the piled furs. His fist was still locked around Hippolyte’s wrist as he fell, and she was pulled on top of him. He heard Iolaus shout No! followed by the cry of the archer as he threw his spear and caught her full in the chest.

  Heracles released his grip on the sword and seized the arrow protruding from his left shoulder. With a grunt, he pulled it from the wound and threw it across the room. He had heard that the Amazons coated their arrow tips in snake venom, and prayed the one that had hit him was not poisoned. But the injury was painful enough, and combined with the gash across his ribs he was beginning to feel weak and sick.

  ‘Release me!’ Hippolyte demanded.

  She struggled against his hold. Then she saw the sword abandoned at his side and made a grab for it. He was quicker, catching hold of her other wrist before she could snatch up the blade and turn it on him.

  ‘What shall we do with her?’ Iolaus asked.

  ‘We’ll bring her with us.’

  ‘Leave the bitch here,’ Megara said. ‘She’ll only be a burden.’

  Heracles was pleased at the hint of jealousy in her tone, if only because it was a sign she still cared about him. He struggled to his feet, still holding Hippolyte by the wrists.

  ‘No, she’s our only way out,’ he said. ‘The Amazons won’t dare attack us if we have their queen.’

  ‘Hippolyte is no longer our queen.’ A table scraped and Althaia staggered to her feet behind Megara. ‘She isn’t even an Amazon. She lost that title when she wanted to put a king over us.’

  She pulled a dagger from her belt.

  ‘Megara!’ Heracles shouted, pushing Hippolyte away and stooping to pick up his sword.

  Megara turned and saw the Amazon captain behind her. Heracles ran towards her, but he was too late. Tossing the dagger upwards, Althaia caught the blade and threw it. It flashed past Heracles’s shoulder and he heard the soft thud as it hit flesh, followed by a low groan. An instant later, the tip of his sword was driving a hole through Althaia’s chest. Her grey fur tunic darkened with blood, then she collapsed on the floor before him.

  He turned quickly. Megara stood wide-eyed, staring at the dead Amazon. Then her gaze travelled sideways to a figure lying in the centre of the room. It was Hippolyte.
Her back was arched and her head thrown back. Althaia’s dagger was protruding from her chest, and the queen’s hands were splayed either side of it, as if wanting to pull the weapon out, but too afraid to touch it. Then she slumped back down and her arms fell to her sides.

  Heracles threw away the sword and ran towards her. Kneeling at her side, he cupped his hand behind her head and lifted it a little. Her eyes flickered open and she peered up at him.

  ‘Hippolyte, I… I’m sorry—’

  ‘You’ll never escape Themiscyra alive now, Heracles,’ she gasped. ‘Even you won’t be able to fight off a whole army of Amazons.’

  She smiled as she spoke, a cruel, vengeful twist of the lips that took joy from the thought of his death. Then her eyes closed for the final time and she lay still.

  He looked around at the bodies of the Amazons. Only the warrior whose hand he had severed remained alive, and she had passed out from the pain and would soon bleed to death. He listened briefly, but could hear no sounds from the rest of the palace that suggested the fight had been overheard and other Amazons were coming to their queen’s assistance. Then he looked at Megara. Her borrowed cloak was sprayed with blood, but she was otherwise unharmed. She met his gaze, but only for a moment.

  ‘You’re wounded,’ she said, walking to him and gently probing his shoulder and ribs with her fingertips. ‘Iolaus, tear down one of those drapes from the window. We need to bandage these injuries before he loses too much blood.’

  ‘It can wait. We have to get out of here before anybody is missed and they come looking for them.’

  ‘It can’t wait,’ she told him. ‘You’re strong, but you’ll be no good to us if you pass out halfway back to your ship. If it’s still there.’

  ‘It will be.’

  Iolaus began tearing the thin drape into strips. Megara rolled one into a pad and placed it over the gash across his ribs, then touched his elbow to indicate he should raise his arm while she wound another strip around his chest. She did the same for his shoulder, and though she worked quickly, he delighted in the touch of her hands upon his body again after so long. Yet she refused to look at him, marring his pleasure by the thought that her earlier warmth towards him had faded after the revelation he had slept with Hippolyte. All too soon, the wounds were dressed and Iolaus helped him to put on his belt and heavy lion skin.